


cut through the clouds, break the ceiling

by Anonymous



Series: real love [1]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Daddy Kink, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:56:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21755731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The trajectory of the quality of pick-up lines in this relationship is firmly downward, so Lando is aware he’s about to say something supremely stupid. He gulps, and tosses his phone away. “The bed’s too big for me to do that alone, obviously…”
Relationships: Lando Norris/Carlos Sainz Jr
Series: real love [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1580821
Comments: 27
Kudos: 164
Collections: Anonymous





	cut through the clouds, break the ceiling

**Author's Note:**

> the usual: absolutely fictional, don't link this publicly or share with anyone involved. thanks for reading and I appreciate all comments!

The key-card slips through the lock with a muted beep, and Lando shoulders the door open. Standard hotel room, just a place to sleep for one night before the demands of tomorrow come alive. He steps inside with Carlos behind him, kicks off his shoes, and looks around. 

It’s exactly what had been booked for them a few weeks ago by some anonymous PA: clean, modern, maybe a few too many mirrors, and two beds. Lando glances over at Carlos, who’s already shrugging off his suit jacket. The night’s bow tie has come off hours ago. 

“You are going to shower?” Carlos asks, rattling through the closet for a coathanger. He glances over his shoulder. Lando’s leaned back against the closed door, the smallest smile playing on his face. He looks sleepy, hugging his backpack that he’d left in the car for the evening.

Lando shakes his head. “Nah, you go ahead,” he suggests, and yawns. “Thank you, though.” He’s silent for a moment and then speaks again. “Thanks for sticking with me tonight.” He smiles tiredly. ‘I was worried I’d lose you among everyone but you were always right there and—” he yawns again— “I didn’t get lonely.”

Carlos grins and takes a few steps to pull Lando into a hug. “Where am I supposed to find any better company at these endless holiday parties? They are all the same talk, talk, talk, with the same questions about the season and the same grabbing at you by different girls.” He can feel Lando’s shirt buttons pressed against his chest, and when the two part, Carlos unbuttons the collar with a deft twist of his fingers at Lando’s throat. “Here, get that off and get into bed. Cutie.” He shoos the boy toward the beds, adding a little tap on Lando’s trouser-clad ass. Lando shoots a pouty smirk over his shoulder but sets down his bag as Carlos retreats into the bathroom.

Half an hour later he emerges in a warm fog of steamy air, his hair messily damp and his chest bare, a pair of well worn pyjama pants slung just half an inch too low. The lights in the room are still on. He’d thought Lando would be asleep by now. 

But when Lando looks up and sees Carlos, the quick lick of his lips is so involuntary that neither of them are sure it happened, but the light in his eyes is  _ definitely _ real, and suddenly Lando isn’t quite as tired as he was before. 

He’s sitting on the end of his bed in his boxers, knees bent and bare legs tucked to one side. He’s got one hand on his phone and the other tucked between his knees, and his jacket and trousers are shucked off and draped over an irrelevant piece of furniture. The only focus in the room is Lando with his once-crisp white shirt unbuttoned, falling off one shoulder revealing a glimpse of smooth skin so golden-tan it glows in the warm light of the room. He tips his head to one side as the shyest smile creeps onto his face, and he’s just perched there, so fucking  _ lascivious  _ with that warm swath of bare skin across his chest and stomach that Carlos has no options left. 

He’s seen this a dozen times, but he’s not tired of the view yet. 

Carlos folds his towel neatly, anything to occupy his hands for a second to hold himself back. Lando’s tired, and if he wants to sleep, Carlos wants to respect that. “I thought you were supposed to be in bed.”

“I’m  _ on _ bed; that’s good enough for now, right?” 

“If you are just  _ on _ bed you should be making better use of the furniture,” Carlos says, and he’s suddenly there, crowding up against the end of the bed as he wraps one warm hand around Lando’s jaw to cup his cheek.

Lando lets his head be tipped up, and he flushes a little as he meets Carlos’ gaze. He’s been looked at like this a dozen times, but he’s not tired of the attention yet. The trajectory of the quality of pick-up lines in this relationship is firmly  _ downward, _ so he’s aware he’s about to say something supremely stupid. He gulps, and tosses his phone away. “The bed’s too big for me to do that  _ alone, _ obviously…”

“You do want help with that?” Carlos asks, leaning down closer, and Lando can smell the hotel shampoo in the messy dark brown hair. His eyes fall shut for a slow moment as Carlos traces fingertips down the side of his neck, but he looks Carlos in the eye before he nods. 

“You are sure?”

Carlos is always asking, always testing even the most secure of moments to make sure Lando is absolutely, totally, certainly comfortable. It was awkward at first, but Lando grew with it. There’s a not-very secret part of him that loves having enthusiasm  _ demanded _ from him, so his cheeks go hot red as he firmly replies  _ “Yes,” _ and he knows the blush isn’t just from Carlos’ touch. He’s so far from tired right now.

Carlos flashes a fierce grin and something, the very atmosphere in the room, snaps, and the air is suddenly sparking hot. Lando’s breath hitches, though his partner hasn’t even moved. 

“Get up on the bed, then,” Carlos says in a taut voice, tightening his fingers around Lando’s jawline for a millisecond before releasing him, only to wrap an arm around him and half shove, half lift the boy to the centre of the bed. 

Lando sinks into the bedspread on his back, the manhandling just starting to go  _ straight  _ to his dick, but he doesn’t have time to think about it before Carlos is looming over him, pinning him down, untouched, with his presence alone. He moves to shrug the shirt off his other shoulder, but Carlos’ hand comes down on his arm and tugs it back. 

“No, leave that on,” Carlos directs him. “I can iron it for you tomorrow.” The line is so perfectly incongruous Lando almost laughs in spite of himself. “That means tonight I have no mercy on how much I crumple it up,” Carlos adds casually, before leaning in to grip Lando’s chin and land three kisses, in order like a ritual, on Lando’s forehead, the tip of his nose, and finally his so-slightly parted lips. 

“Please,” Lando begs in a quiet voice much higher than his usual, 

“You want that?” Carlos murmurs, trailing his lips so lightly over Lando’s cheek. 

He nips Lando’s earlobe once and the boy again whines a desperate  _ “Please,” _ so Carlos moves to claim what’s his.

Their mouths crush together and Lando feels so flushed, he’s burning with heat but he’ll never know if it’s from his own cheeks or from the press of Carlos' tongue, so demanding from him in a way that has blows his mind every single time. Carlos is so greedy but  _ oh _ so unselfish, biting and sucking with a careless roughness but returning to soothe each sting with a kiss so gentle. And Lando’s too paralysed but Carlos has nestled him between his knees as he kneels over this newly minted British fucking Competition Driver of the Year, and Lando’s the least competitive right now he’s been in his life, but if there are any awards like World’s Biggest Slut for Carlos Sainz Jr. 2019-Infinity he sure hopes he’s nominated. 

He just wants to reach up and get his hand around the back of Carlos’ neck to pull him close and control the pace of these endless kisses, but the last thing Lando has right now is control. He’s got a warm face and a beautifully aching heart and a  _ really  _ stiff cock, but all the control in the room has moved to Carlos’ hands, which are petting his neck and curling into his hair, and now and then moving so gently to his throat. It’s sending all the wrong kinds of shivers down Lando’s back, but he’d die before wanting this to stop.

Carlos pulls back, runs his thumb over Lando’s lips and they fall open. Lando’s tongue flicks over his lower lip and ghosts against Carlos’ fingertip. His lips are quivering but not for long, as Carlos slips two fingers into Lando’s mouth and presses them slow but hard against his tongue. It pulls a positively blue noise from his throat, and if it was anyone but Carlos in the room he’d be horribly embarrassed. But it’s Carlos,  _ his _ Carlos who knows every inch of his skin, every freckle on his face, every little ripple of muscle across his chest and shoulders as he strains to hold still. 

“Are you a good boy?” Carlos asks, in that criminally low voice he knows how to wield like a weapon. 

Lando’s got Carlos’ fingers down his fucking throat, so he can only nod desperately. His eyes are wide, beginning to water, and all he hopes is that Carlos can see just how much he means this.

“Whose good boy are you?” Carlos demands, so casually fucking his fingers into Lando’s mouth you’d almost forget the sheer obscenity of the act and the other it emulates. And Lando basks in it, the ease with which Carlos simply uses Lando’s mouth and the effortless wet slide of fingers against his lips and across his tongue. Carlos pries open Lando’s jaw just a little, leans in and demands again, “ _ Tell me, _ whose good boy are you?”

Lando can do nothing but groan profanely and hope that answer is good enough, and it seems to be because Carlos whispers  _ “fuck,” _ and bites his lip. Lando feels  _ owned. _ And that’s all he wants from this. The feeling balls up hotly in the pit of his stomach and his eyes flutter shut. Carlos traces his free hand down Lando’s collarbones, pushing under the thin cotton of the dress shirt to lightly drag his fingernails across Lando’s chest and down across his perfectly flat stomach.

“Lando, baby…” 

He moans around the fingers on his tongue and Carlos removes his hand, letting him speak. “Carlos,” he hisses in reply. “If you stop that I’m going to  _ die.” _

Carlos almost absently adds, “If I had known we would end up like this, I would have brought some things from home,” and rakes his nails down Lando’s chest again.

“Fuck—Carlos—what _ things,” _ Lando gasps out, battling the full-body shivers Carlos is inducing on his skin.

A flat palm brushes across Lando’s stomach, soothing the bite of the last particularly hard scratch. Carlos ignores the question. “You need to get more comfortable,” he decides. Lando loves and hates how Carlos picks him up like he doesn’t weigh anything, but less than five seconds later he’s nestled against the pillows and Carlos is tugging at the loose collar of his shirt. “I think I want this off now,” he says, running a hand up Lando’s side, feeling the ripple of ribs and breath underneath the soft skin. Lando smiles up at him, and it’s angelic, a touch dreamy. Carlos leans down and leaves one single, firm bite on Lando’s shoulder as he pulls the warm fabric off the boy’s skin. He tosses the shirt away as Lando rubs the half-moon of bite marks denting his skin. 

Carlos catches Lando’s wrist. “You’re my good boy, right?” Carlos reminds him.

“Fuck yeah,” Lando says, a little muzzily but very readily.

“You are going to do something for me.”

Lando nods, eyes widening. He looks almost worried, and Carlos dips close again to claim his mouth with a kiss. Lando’s lips are thoroughly bitten and swollen now, but they’re no less soft than always. 

“Okay, baby,” Carlos murmurs into his ear. “You don’t get to touch now, and I don’t want to drag myself away from you for one second, so I am going to trust you to do exactly what I say.” He raises Lando’s arms over his head and tucks them gently underneath the pillow the boy’s head rests on. “You will keep your hands there.” He pats the pillow. “If you are really… so… good…” he drags out the sentence breathily, “I do not need to get the scarf from my bag to do a good boy’s job for him.”

Lando swallows thickly and nods.

“So I can trust you?”

“Fuck, of course,” Lando gasps.

“Good boy,” Carlos concedes finally, and Lando lets out a breath he doesn’t know he’d been holding. 

He tips his head back, and Carlos leaves one last kiss on his cheek. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, tracing a hand across Lando’s now bare chest. His fingernails scrape across Lando’s nipple, and he hears a sudden intake of breath.

“Do that again,” pleads Lando, shifting a little.

“Hold still, baby,” Carlos reminds, brushing his hand across Lando’s nipple again, and this time, pinching more deliberately. 

Lando winces, accompanied by a shaky breath, and he begs, “ _ please, _ Carlos.”

Carlos shifts, placing himself to kiss Lando’s chest as his hands wander the boy’s torso. He leaves a sloppy kiss on Lando’s sternum, scrapes teeth along the line of his collarbone, slowly palms Lando’s abs and leaves sucking, splotchy red kisses on what Lando likes to call his pecs and what Carlos likes to pretend are nothing. But slimly developed as Lando may be, Carlos spares no attention to his body, sliding his tongue across Lando’s nipples and returning to scatter small bites all over his chest.

It’s fucking  _ agony  _ for Lando, just short of writhing in his captivity. “Fuck, Carlos, holy  _ fuck, _ ” he gasps, shuddering. “Don’t—don’t stop,  _ please, _ ” Lando brokenly begs. It happens like this  _ every fucking time, _ he knows it, but he still lets Carlos play with him under the rules of some challenge Lando regrets  _ every fucking time, _ when all he wants to do is bury his hands in Carlos’ lush hair and burst into tears at how much he loves this stupid, sexy boyfriend of his. He just wants to make out with Carlos permanently and though they’ve been at this for months now, he can’t help his heart eyes every time he looks at the damn man. His brain and his heart and his dick all go absolutely haywire as soon as Carlos turns on the tiniest bit of charm, and it’s inconvenient as all hell especially if he’s wearing the wrong trousers, but he also wouldn’t mind if this never changed. 

_ “Fuck,” _ Lando chokes out, rousing to his subjugation again as Carlos fits a hand around his throat and sinks his teeth into that softest bit of shoulder that slopes up to one’s neck. That will leave a mark, but the day after a corporate Christmas party bristling with eligible women is about as acceptable a time as ever to walk around with a sex wound. “Fuck, Carlos, fuck me, I love you  _ so _ much.” It’s a messy confession, but the real ones always are.

“Oh,  _ fuck _ you?” Carlos teases, lifting his head to look at the boy twitching beneath his touch. "I would ask you if you can hold still during that too, but we are missing some  _ supplies,”  _ Carlos says, and he truly sounds apologetic. “I would love to fuck you but it’s off the table tonight, cutie."

Lando whines shamelessly. “They’re going to find me dead here in the morning,” he groans, and he’s only half joking. 

Carlos traces delicate touches across Lando’s stomach, allowing him a few ticklish twitches. “Trust me,” he says quietly, his hand brushing Lando’s hipbones. He plays with the waistband of Lando’s navy boxers. “Good boys get what they deserve.”

“Okay,” Lando agrees, but his voice is uncertain. 

Carlos grabs Lando’s chin again and tilts his head forward. “Look at me, baby,” he says firmly, demanding eye contact as his palm slides across the tent in Lando’s pants. 

His eyes shoot open and his whine practically echoes around the room. “Carlos,” he moans, his whole face crumbling underneath the man’s unwavering gaze. 

“Fuck,” Carlos hisses. “Do you like how that feels?” He wraps a hand around Lando’s stiff cock through the thin fabric and slowly but firmly drags his fingers along the length. Lando’s eyes fall shut as he screws up his face. It’s not much but it’s  _ too  _ much and Carlos has dragged this out way too long.  _ “Look _ at me,” Carlos demands again, and Lando nods nervously. 

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, “it’s just—please—” 

“Ah, fuck this,” Carlos grumbles. He hooks his fingers around the waistband of Lando’s boxers and drags them down, Lando obligingly shifting his hips to help. They get tossed across the room to the same demise as the shirt. “Lando, you are fucking  _ beautiful.” _

He blushes and squirms a bit under Carlos’ gaze. He doesn’t truly know what Carlos sees, he just feels small and a little underwhelming. Carlos himself has been bare-chested this whole time, leaning over and touching him like Carlos himself isn’t the most stunning creature in the country. In every country they visit. Lando knows he himself is cute, yes, beautiful—where?

“Shh, I can hear you thinking,” Carlos fusses, leaning in to press his lips to Lando’s heart. He picks up where he left off, gently brushing Lando’s cock with his fingertips before wrapping his hand around it. 

“Fuck,” Lando bites out, wincing. “Thank you,” he breathes, chewing on his lower lip as he watches Carlos touch him. 

“Mmm, you like that?” goads Carlos, dragging a thumb up and down the underside of the head. His strokes grow firmer as Lando twitches under his touch. “Talk to me,” he demands, “be a good boy for me and tell me how it feels.”

He groans. “I just want—I just want to move, I just want to take my hands and hold you and touch you like you’re touching me,” Lando begs, even as he know it’s fruitless. Carlos doesn’t relax his rules when Lando’s underneath him. “You feel so fucking good, just your hands on me; I love you so fucking much,” he moans, choking out the words. His eyes are wide and he knows he looks a mess, but he also knows this is the moment Carlos loves the most: he’s practically boneless, hips twitching into Carlos’ grasp, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut, all soft and pleading and obviously desperate, just trying to be  _ so good. _ “God, Carlos, I love you, I want more, I want you inside me, please, I need you to fuck me, daddy, please, I’ll do anything—”

“— Daddy?” Carlos interrupts, but he doesn’t stop fucking Lando into his hand. 

“Fuck.”

“Daddy.”

Lando winces. It feels fucking good, and it felt even better to say it; but he hadn’t meant to. “I’m sorry, that was a mistake.”

“Say it again.”

“What?”

“No, call me that again.”

Lando takes a shuddery breath and forces himself to relax, though he’s burning red. “Please don’t stop, daddy,” his whisper turns into a whine, “you feel so fucking good,” he begs.

Carlos swears and Lando hears his breath hitch for the first time that night. “If it is a mistake that goes straight to my heart and makes my metaphysical dick grow fifty percent larger, then do not worry about stopping,” he says in a low voice. “And—” 

“Okay,” Lando whispers.

“And I promise,” he growls, “I will be inside you as soon as we’re home, as soon as possible,” he swears. 

_ “Fuck.” _

“I know exactly how I want you,” Carlos murmurs, steadily jerking Lando’s cock in smooth, firm strokes. Lando’s fresh out of original obscenities, so he just shudders and bites back his groan. “You are not even going to make it to the bed,” Carlos promises, “it has been a while since I fucked you on the sofa, or maybe just across the arm, or if you are  _ really fucking good, _ the wall will do fine.”

“God, Carlos,” Lando swears, “I’m going to cum.” The sensation of climax is wavering somewhere on the edges of his brain, twitchy and just out of reach. “Keep talking,  _ please,” _ he begs.

“You’re going to be begging for me again,” Carlos purrs smoothly, “I will press you down and bite your neck and you will plead for me to stop and never really mean it, and this time I will let you touch my hair and you will not be able to keep your hands off of me,” he murmurs. “And I will tell you that you are beautiful, like every time, and you will tell me you _ fucking love me, _ like every time, but you will also call me daddy and you will drive me just as mad for you as I was on day one and am to this day,” he vows.

“Fuck, Carlos,  _ I fucking love you,” _ Lando groans, and he bites his lip as the climax hits, a shuddering wave of intoxicating delirium that feels as though he should  _ at least _ be levitating a little. 

He’s breathless a long moment later, breathless but blissed out. Carlos’ smile is a bit more wry, and he cleans up expertly with a few wipes. 

“Lando,” he says quietly, taking the boy into his arms as he slips back to the bed. 

“Carlos,” Lando replies, eagerly snuggling in. “Thank you,” he whispers. He kisses Carlos on the cheek as he’s craved all night.

“You’re beautiful, Lando.”

“Carlos, I fucking love you.”


End file.
